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My mom was more popular than I was. And sadly, this is not a fabrication.

Issue Date: Tuesday, May. 10, 2005

Well put me on a Ritz and call me cheesy but I am so excited I could just spit.

Ya’ll know how I have been going on and on and on about the Kerr Krew? Ok, one friggin entry… shut up… well, not one. But one and a half… well, ok… several… if you count this one too… because sheesh… Steph and I?… founding members… along with the tall blonde ones. [Editors Note: Stacey is in too many journal entries to link because I? Am Lay. ZEE.] Anyway. Point? We don’t need no stinking points around here.

Ah, yes, the point… heeeere point! Alrighty, the point is, I got all wacked out yesterday evening on Midol™ and salsa and decided that during an incredible hot flash that I would go shopping in my garage for shit that I know is in there but have no idea where in tarnation it could be found.

Sounded like a plan.

So armed with my lucky Gap sweatshirt I have had since Christmas of 1990 (Thanks Steph!) … (PS: I don’t throw nothing away Bitches!) … (much to Mister’s dismay) and a cramp the size of Wyoming I , (Could I BE anymore parenthetical here?) set out for the garage that has housed many a box but not one fuckin car since June of last year.

And guess what I found?

Aside from three pairs of shoes that I love and have been mourning the loss of since we moved. Love you Nine West leather black slides with stack heel and an open toe, love you dark red sandals with three little strappy things and kicky flower detail, love you wooden slides with bright red other stuff… anyway. Aside from those shoes? Guess what I found? Go ahead… guess.

No. Jimmy Hoffa is in Cheyenne, Wyoming happy, healthy and doing fine as the sole proprietor of the combination scrap metal wholesaler and tanning salon, called the Pull N Fry. Talked to him last week. He said ya’ll were pretty.

I found a whole box a LARGE (Marge, in Charge) box of my photo albums. My 3 foot long high school senior photo was rolled up in its little tube in that box, and no, I’m not kidding. The damn picture is ginormahuge. I graduated with 1267 kids.

“Hi, my name is Susan and I have no clue who you are. We graduated together? Really? I got nothin. Oh… you know my mom? She was your substitute teacher, really? Awesome.”

And by “awesome”, I meant, “I’d like to die.” My mom was more popular than I was. And sadly, this is not a fabrication.

Moving on.

But also in the Monster Box was this little gem.

(And I am trying something new and if my code is all jacked… please forgive)

Click to make all of these pictures bigger.

I like to call this “For God’s sake… would someone give me a sandwich?”
Good Lord Eat Something

This one is a favorite picture of mine. LuLu and I started out as mortal enemies ya’ll. Seriously. My daft ass just didn’t know it. Heh. She had to tell me later.
Aren’t we precious?
Susan and LuLu 1993

And the pièce de résistance…
Too Much Cuteness aka Diabetic Coma

I found albums of the trip that my sister and mother and I took to London and Paris in ’98. I found pictures of me when I was wee in a bee costume for a ballet recital. I found pictures of EVERYTHING. It was awesome. I love memory lane.

And… I love salsa.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

My Amazon Wish List.

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